


Old Dog, New Tricks

by Nazerine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Anal Sex, Crack, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, First Time, Implied Bestiality, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slightly Out Of Character, and Harold has had enough of his shit, bot!John, but not really, top!Harold, where John is a insubordinate bot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nazerine/pseuds/Nazerine
Summary: John had been disobedient. Three times he had gone against Harold’s direct advice for lack of better judgement, only to end up almost getting himself killed. He did it because he wanted to be more intimate with Finch, not satisfied with their current arrangement. But how far is too far?





	Old Dog, New Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first POI Fanfic. I have been a huge fan of the series for years (and the pairing) but it has taken this long to get something out. It took longer than expected to write and draft but it was still very enjoyable. I honestly expected more smut but it was more of a test to see if I could get in character, which turned out to be easier than I thought. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. This isn't a subject I would normally touch on either but hey, didn't see anyone else do it so thought I'd give it a shot. Hoping to do more, expressive, smutty works in future of our favourite superhero vigilante duo.

John had been disobedient. Three times he had gone against Harold’s direct advice for lack of better judgement, only to end up almost getting himself killed. The first time was when he thought to take the drainage pipe down the side of a building in the hope of catching the perpetrator between floors instead of the fire escape like Harold had suggested based on current surveillance of the building. The idea had worked initially. He’d landed a solid blow on the back of Mr. Masarti’s head as he swung through the window, grappling the man to the floor. The gun the perp had been chasing his landlord down with had misfired as they rolled around in the glass, barely shaving the side of Reese’s arm as he locked his grip around the other man’s neck. Harold’s mouth at the end of it had been hardened into a thin unhappy line, attending to not only the wound on his arm but the one on his shoulder where a shard of glass had got lodged dangerously close to his neck. The library or HQ as Reese sometimes referred to wasn’t exactly close to a hospital in terms of medical equipment and with Finch being as equally gifted as he was squeamish, it was no surprise for the ex-operative to find himself begrudgingly sent off to the non-emergency ward to have the glass safely removed. 

He could and should have done it himself but Finch had got all puffy and so worked up over his disregard to his personal safety that it was just better to leave before Harold went and had a brain aneurysm. John couldn’t admit to himself to disobeying Finch on purpose because he liked to see him flustered.

The second time he ignored Harold’s judgement was a month later during a robbery, this one at an accounting firm in the outer districts of New York. The number, a finance officer by the name of Gillian Thomas had found herself on the opposite end of a gun because she thought herself clever to help herself to the earnings of a private businessman; one who happened to also be an extremely successful hitman. He would have got away with the deed as he pretended to be under the alias of her hateful ex-husband, fake fingerprints applied the grip. But the eyes and ears of The Machine saw all and in a flit of trickery, John decided to play with his food instead of taking out the lights like Harold suggested. 

The gun went off and landed true in the kneecap, but the hitman had come prepared and by the time they realized he was carrying homemade smoke grenades, it was too late. Without a mask, John was forced to fight blind, relying on sound and instinct alone as another four shots rang out through the office. Relax, Finch, he’d said. He had things covered, he said. He should have taken out the lights like Harold told him to but he got cocky and now with a bullet lodged in his ribs, he only had himself to blame as Finch went about berating him about his recent recklessness. “Really, Mr. Reese.” He crowed, pulling the bullet out with a pair of surgical tools and placing the small bloody metal slug into a tray. Finch had gone and enlisted an alias of his into a first-aid course after the first bout, non content in having Reese’s injuries seen and made public. ”This was completely unnecessary. I wish you didn’t go putting yourself at risk because of a disagreement in tactics.” Harold was looking a lot pastier than he should, but John was there to catch him if he ever felt like keeling over. Any excuse to touch him, really. He might have felt bad about it, but John always liked the thrill and while he could have always pulled the bullet out himself, there was something about allowing Finch to take care for him that just felt so gratifying and dangerous. As if he was healing more than just a physical wound. The sutures going deeper than just skin.

The third time it occured it just happened to be in the apartment block across the road from where Harold had set him up with his own crib. Harold was suffering from a migraine but still managed to keep it together enough to feed the intel John needed to secure the handcuffed hostages while Bear kept guard of the stairwell. The perp, a young but deluded activist who thought to spread their message through violent scheming had been successfully distracted when Finch activated the electronic fire alarm system and preemptively soaked the explosives that had been strapped around the hostages’ bodies - rendering them useless. Not that they were well made to begin with, unstable as they were because he’d bought them second-hand from a dark web troll who thought themselves clever cutting corners. Harold had made sure to pass on their details to the right authorities for that trick. 

Bear barked as the faux terrorist began storming up the stairs, a machete waving out through the sprinklers blindly. John was ready to pounce on him and disarm when Harold croaked in his ear to double-back to the hostages instead; his voice straining with pain and alarm. But it was too late. Reese was already in fisticuffs with their latest bad guy when the explosives vest he was wearing decided to malfunction, and what should have been an explosion had instead only earned a badly constituted spray of damaged powder. It could and should have been a lot worse since it had landed in Reese’s eyes, suffering him a banged up head when the perp thought to thrust him back into the wall. Luckily Bear had been there to disarm, earning enough time for John to slap the man into unconsciousness with the butt of his pistol.

But that didn’t stop the fact that he should have waited; having been lured into melee combat because he thought he could take on a machete-wielding maniac. Reese knew deep down it had been his fault. But if it meant Harold fussing over him, chastising him, reminding him he was important and that his life meant something to someone, maybe it was worth it. Having a deathwish never felt so good, especially when Harold pulled him into bed late at night when he couldn’t sleep, when the pills weren’t enough to chase away the pain. When the nightmares kept the intellectual awake. Their relationship had started off as something close to vanilla, cautious touches and exploratorive kisses that left them both breathless. At the time John couldn’t believe it was real, that the normally reclusive man had entrusted him enough to bare the most sacred and most vulnerable parts of himself to someone who went out of their way to throw caution to the wind. But as the reality sunk in and he found himself waking up in Harold’s bed from a round of mutual handjobs after a particularly troublesome case, John couldn’t help but wonder how much more he could get if he just went out of his way a little bit further; press a little harder.

Just how far could he push the envelope to get what he wanted? He had to know. So on the fourth attempt of being reckless, John had thought himself lucky when he found himself pushed down onto the mattress, his thigh and hip aching from where he’d been dragged behind a car. Harold looked downright happy, the normally prim man in his well kept suits staring down at him with that icy distant stare he got when he was feeling especially testy. John stared back, feigning an innocent expression that only earned a hard line from Finch’s lips as they thinned over his face in displeasure.”I thought I told you to take better care of yourself, Mr. Reese.” Finch reminded, tone clipped. 

“And I thought I told you that I had things handled, Finch.” It wasn’t the right answer apparently because Harold’s stare became heavy, his large owlish eyes scrutinising him with an unreadable look that sent a secret thrill up John’s spine.  
Finch reached up then, tracing his fingers along the sharp line of John’s jaw, caressing the stubble in a slow firm movement that had the taller man’s toes curling in his shoes in anticipation. Given what he thought was permission, John leaned down to kiss them and instead found himself meeting resistance, Harold’s fingers pressing over his lips to stop him. “Evidently not.” Was Finch’s frozen response, reaching out to tap on the graze near John’s hip in revenge. The shot of pain caused him to grit his teeth, leaning away much to Harold’s chagrin as he pulled John forward again, this time with a firm grip around his chin. “Next time I permit you to enter the field, Mr. Reese, might I suggest you keep what I give you in mind so you don’t go being foolish and throwing your life needlessly away again. Really, it’s completely unnecessary,” Harold huffed. “Especially since you seem to be doing this out of some crass desire to be more intimate with me.”

John barely registered what was happening until it had been done, too caught up with this new side of Harold he’d never seen before. Had he read his motives that clearly? Only when he looked down and noticed the cuffs on his ankles from where Harold had suddenly knelt did he raise a brow, staring at the older man like he had just popped into existence. “Are you taking me hostage, Finch?” Was John’s incredulous response, his mouth upturning into a flirtatious grin as he tested the strength of them. Sturdy. But not enough to keep him in place for long. Harold however merely continued watching him with that same level stare.

“Despite your concerns, no. I am not,” Harold looked down at him in the same manner someone might have if they were berating a pet or a child, but John couldn’t help but be aroused by it, his cock twitching lively within his briefs as Finch reached out to unbutton his shirt. “I am doing this because I feel this might be the only way you might actually learn something,” Having been informed from his previous lesson, John chose to remain still this time, his eyes tracing Finch’s fingers as they came up to trace along his stubble. “I didn’t know you were taking notes from wannabe terrorists,” He quipped, just to see if he could further under Harold’s skin. “You could always tie my hands up too. Besides, you never told me what I was supposed to be learning about exactly.” Finch just held that same impassive expression as his fingers trailed down to his neck, coaxing goosebumps as he went. Although he didn’t show it, Reese could feel his ire, his desperation to have the operative see things from his point of view.

He was almost going to make another attempt to prod further when suddenly Harold leaned close, plastering his lips against his own in a smothering kiss that stole his breath away. John moaned low at the back of his throat as he found himself pressed back on the bed, the movements of a deft tongue sweeping its way at the cusp of his mouth for entry. His breath became ragged as Finch pushed deep, forcing his way into his mouth and moaned a low noise that sent a spike of pleasure straight to his groin. He wanted to move, wrap his arms around him, do something but the way Harold was acting silently commanded him to stay still; afraid that if he should try to reach out that he would break this magical moment between them.

By the time Harold had slid his tongue out of his mouth, Reese was more than just wanting. The front of his dress pants was tenting obscenely, maybe a little too eagerly, but he didn’t care. What Harold gave was never enough. Not the kisses, not the words - part of which John hated. He wanted to be sated, truly, to be confident in Harold’s ability and focus to keep him from stepping beyond his means. But pushing limits, doing the wrong thing despite being told not to, that was something in his design he couldn’t fully erase; bad code in his system that couldn’t be written out.

Finch looked down at him, holding that gaze that pierced him to his core when he knew John was up to something and left him hoping and afraid all the same. “Obedience,” The words were sharp like knives as it rolled off Finch’s tongue. “- Is what you’ll be learning, Mr. Reese.” John felt Harold’s fingers dip, tracing along the seam of his collar and undoing the top most button of the shirt with the practised ease of a tailor. The rest easily followed, pulling the material off to expose the swathe of tanned skin and lean muscle that had been peppered with small shrapnel scars and the occasional knife entry wound. Next came the belt, John wordlessly lifting his hips to meet him and raised an eyebrow slightly as Finch leaned on his good side to wrap the leather around one of his wrists. “The other too, please.” He requested and to his personal curiosity found himself obeying, the leather pulling tight behind his back. 

Reese guessed he could have easily wriggled his way out of it if he truly wanted but curious in this ‘obedience’ lesson Harold spoke about, John decided to humor him, testing the belt once just for good measure. It rubbed at his wrists, constricting and earning a look from Finch as Harold reached up to loosen his tie. He didn’t say anything, left the implication hang in the air and with a silent nod of permission from John did he wrap it around Reese’s head, securing it with a soft knot somewhere in his hairline. Finch tested it by tugging on it and when it didn’t move, John was left in the dark, hearing the sound of something being opened and closed as the weight of the other settled in front of him.

“So how am I going to learn?” He couldn’t help but budge, left only with words as slim fingers pushing against his chest, laying him down on the mattress with his arms pinned under him. His pants were unzipped and pulled off along with his underwear, leaving him bare in his aroused state for whatever Finch had in mind. “You are going to follow my instructions, Mr. Reese. Since you have a habit of ignoring them when your life is in danger, I am hoping that you’ll reconsider listening to them with what I have in mind now.” So he was going to teach him the benefits of following along? John’s mind whirled with the idea of prostrating before Finch, of fingers running through his hair, the scent and taste of his musk in his mouth. He was left gasping as something cool and wet slid over his groin and lower abdomen: soft, silky and unscented. It dribbled down between the gap in his thighs, and with a short groan did he feel Finch play with it down the crack of his ass as well, tickling his exposed asshole.

He wasn’t used to sensation play. Normally when things like this were involved, they were painful; done by those who only sought to extract information or harm him, nothing more. Even now he could feel the scars on his body tightening slightly as he leaned back into the mattress, nudging his hips upward as his shoulders pushed down. “Keep still.” Admonished Finch and John couldn’t help but huff a little, wanting to get more than just cold lube on his skin. He didn’t have to wait for long, Harold’s fingers carefully skimming over him to coat him fully. Down his stiffening cock they went, fleeting touches that were more maddening than gratifying. Finch touched only where he needed to, lingering no more than necessary. He had barely started but it occured to John just how much he wanted this. How much he wanted to have more than just stolen kisses and long looks over coffee. They had slept in the same bed but hadn’t done much more than anything beyond a few frantic handjobs and the occasional frot. Harold had been slow to open up to the whole degree of intimacy purely based on the fact they had little time for it and that, as Reese suspected, Harold was self conscious.

But here he was now, handling him with a degree of skill and finesse that surprised the experienced operative. Either that and the blindfold and anticipation was making him more sensitive and easier to overwhelm. Harold’s hands moved over him, fingers pressing a lubed tip to the opening of his asshole, teasing the rim as the other slid over his cock, barely offering any resistance to rub against. Harold’s mouth surfaced on his neck somewhere, prickling his skin with smooth rich open-mouthed kisses that made John flush full. The skin rousing a blush down his ears, following wherever the movements went. By the time Harold had let go, John was panting and almost debauched; cock soiled, heavy and unfulfilled. “Damn it, Harold,” he whined, licking dry lips as he was urged to roll over, barely aware at how much his hands prickled. “Is this your way of getting revenge on me?” he went to rut against the mattress, desperate for any real contact. Finch had prepared him well, putting enough lube on that he could swallow a wooden stool, but had hardly pressed the fingers deep enough to rub on that sweet spot. It was pointless, all so very pointless until he felt Finch shift behind him, soothing cleaned hands down his hips. “I’m doing what is necessary for you to learn, Mr. Reese. And unfortunately you’ve put yourself in quite the predicament.” 

It was then that the clicking of nails could be heard, the sound of panting echoing from the doorway. Bear had been resting on his doggy bed when he had arrived, taking an early afternoon nap which he had briefly awoken from to give John an enthusiastic welcome. He wasn’t sure why Harold hadn’t closed the door yet until he felt him move away, overcome with a sudden wave of confusion that had his breath stilling in the back of his throat. “Finch?” 

“Komen,” Was Harold’s reply, Bear answering with a low huff from somewhere behind him. Why wasn’t he putting the dog away when his boner was practically raging? He was leaking indecently upon the sheets, subtly lowering his hips to wordlessly beg for Finch to continue before Harold’s voice hardened with command.”Rijden.” 

Ride? John’s brain spun with the implications as suddenly he felt himself weighed down, fur and slobber rolling down his back as Bear...mounted him? Panic and disgust began to rise in his chest and with gritted teeth John tugged, only to find that the belt keeping his arms pinned in place were too tight. ”Finch.” He called out again, fighting the urge to kick his legs out to which he found a cool hand climbing around his ankle, stalling his movements.”You’ll cease this behaviour immediately, Mr.Reese. If you want release, then you’ll stay still exactly as you are.” John could hardly fathom what was happening, hearing Bear pant above him, licking along the back of his head and neck in affectionate kisses. Was Harold trying to scare him into obeying? He hadn’t felt this unsure in a long time. He’d always been confident in his decisions, even the ones he knew to be bad ones but this...this was uncharted territory. He tried to move, when suddenly he felt something pressing against his lips and with a groan he realised it to be a gag of some sort. John really wasn’t certain if this plan of his to antagonise Finch was the best idea. Harold had turned from his saviour to a devil in an instant, forcing him to stay still, stay pliant if he wanted any hope of getting what he wanted. Bear was warm and heavy against his back, happy, judging from the lolling noises from where his tongue hung out. For a second he thought Harold to be bluffing. There’s no way Bear would know what he’s doing. He was a dog bred to maim, to disarm and put people into submission. He wasn’t taught to do this. That’s when he felt it. Something nudging between his spread thighs, wet and hot. No. No. John could hear his heart hammering in his ears as Harold steadied him, holding him still. “You’re going to be a good boy for me, John.” The older man whispered faintly, and with a gasp John felt that same hot something nudge against his asshole, his muscle clenching back in a flinch. Maybe Bear had been taught how to make people submit in more ways than just the standard.

A garbled mess came from his mouth then, thick and high, desperate to get the gag off. He was sweating through the sheets and despite his disgust and apprehension, John’s cock hadn’t wilt even a fraction; hardened and stiff against his abdomen. It began to breach him then, pushing past his walls and burying itself with small ragged thrusts. He was appalled as his own reaction, at himself. He could feel it nudging, could feel Bear rubbing his furry thighs against the back of his own, directed by something long and thin tapping against his side; a leash, not that it mattered. His attention was drawn to his ass, the sensation of his companion plowing into him with an urgency that took his breath away. John groaned a wail, pushing his head up, desperate; sickened. He needed out. He needed to apologise. He wanted Harold, not Bear. Not this. He’d pushed too far and with a jerk he suddenly found his blindfold tugged off, the gag removed as Harold came to stand beside him, watching with that same stern unflappable look. Like everything he was doing was within reason.

“Harold, I’m sorry. Just give me a chance,” Reese all but begged in a gasp, only to notice then that Bear had dismounted him and was sitting at Harold’s side, wagging his tail in wide happy arcs. Then what was…? He turned to look down his own sweaty self but found nothing except the handle of something sticking out from whatever was buried halfway inside him. “I hope that you’ve come to realise Mr. Reese, that more than just you can play this game.” He murmured, urging a surprised sound to escape John’s lips as he tapped the handle, causing it to wriggle inside him much to his own frustration. He couldn’t believe Harold would be this good at manipulation but really, was it that surprising? John blinked the sweat out of his lashes and raised his head, watching the unassuming man with a look that betrayed his wrecked state. “Harold,” His voice was thick, needy with guilt. “I’m sorry. I overstepped myself. I thought...maybe if I kept trying, I could get closer to you. It was a dumb idea. I should have known better.” Finch wasn’t looking so peeved anymore, his walls coming down slowly now that Reese finally had got the point. “John, if you wanted me, or wanted more from me, you could have asked.” Harold’s hand was in his hair, stroking back the sweat from his skin.”I would have given you anything.”

“Then do me a favor and take your cock out so you can finish me off.” It was the last domino to fall, and it did so brilliantly and John would have got this, all of it had he just been patent. But he was never a good person, not really. Not when there were people like Harold Finch occupying the same world and time as him. Harold was surprisingly skillful once he actually set his mind and heart to it, removing the dildo from John’s ass so he could fill him up properly. Finch gasped low as he entered him, still clothed as he pressed and thrust deep, pushing in until he was buried to the hilt. John shouldn’t have had any doubts about Harold to begin with. Given time, they would have fit perfectly just as they did now. If only he hadn’t gone against his orders, he might have been lucky enough to have been able to watch him, see as Harold broke apart.

Instead, he could only gasp and whine, thrust his hips back as Harold leaned over him, claiming him with mouth and hands and cock in all. Possessing him in every sense, worming his way into him, into his being. Fuck, why hadn’t he just asked like he said? John almost wanted to hit himself but the cuffs and belt restrained him. It was more than he deserved, but John would have laughed if he had tried to admit to being a decent person. Him and good qualities never did go hand in hand. They lay together afterward, the bindings gone from his wrists, John snuggling under Harold’s chin as they laid on the bed, both panting and soaked in sweat. His ass hurt. It had been a while since he last used it properly, years since he had bedded another man. Honey traps were never fucked out of sincerity or longing like he had for the man whose heart beat under him. Sore, but deliciously satisfied, John couldn’t help but press a line of kisses to Harold’s jaw as Finch stroked his back, propped against a small slope of pillows in mutual abandon. “I think you’re right, Harold,” He murmured, pressing his lips against the recluses mouth, chasing the taste of guilt away with that of trust. “I guess a little obedience goes a long way.”


End file.
